


we've all lived in grace at the end of the day

by ilfirin_estel



Series: the spnfemslash pact [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Civil war in Heaven, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Angst, sexual content in some chapters, spnfemslashpact
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilfirin_estel/pseuds/ilfirin_estel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen Campbell has an angel problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the place to rest my head

**Author's Note:**

> Gwen Campbell and Rachel were both awesome and deserved better than what canon gave us. So I choose to live in a world where they are NOT DEAD. And, you know, they're totally in love.

Every time she dreams about the angel, she dreams about a beach. Gwen isn’t sure how to feel about a) an angel dream-walking through her head, and b) that she (they?) keeps dreaming about the _ocean,_ for Christ’s sake.

“Why are we here?” she asks the woman. Gwen knows that angels don’t have genders or whatever, but the angel in front of her is wearing a female vessel. A really attractive vessel.

Gwen tries hard not to focus on the way light catches in the angel’s blonde hair. The graceful curve of her neck as she cocks her head to one side. She looks at Gwen like she’s a puzzle to be solved. It doesn’t bother Gwen as much as it should.

“You were having a nightmare,” the angel says. “Castiel does this for Dean when he dreams of Hell.”

Gwen arches an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The angel smiles—it’s a tiny quirk of her lips, but her face softens. “You’re special, Gwen Campbell.”

Gwen’s heart stutters because she’s always wanted to hear those words. But outwardly, she laughs. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m as boring as they come.”

The angel shakes her head. “You’re wrong.”


	2. still have a prayer but too few occasions to pray

The morning sun’s rays spill through dusty blinds. Gwen gropes for her cell phone on the rickety nightstand. She doesn’t bother waiting for Dean’s gruff greeting before she speaks.

“Would you ask Castiel what his sister wants with me? I don’t need angels popping up in my dreams saying cryptic shit. They’re supposed to do that to you and your brother, not me.”

“You know who it is?” Gwen’s surprised; Dean actually sounds concerned.

“Didn’t get a name. Tall, blonde, kinda solemn.” Beautiful. Untouchable.

“Sounds like Rachel, Castiel’s commander.”

Rachel. A name to the face. Another puzzle piece.

Gwen smiles.


	3. we've all lived in grace at the end of the day

Gwen witnessed Castiel snatching Dean from the jaws of death once. She figured it must be a common occurrence because Dean’s response was a rather mild thank you.

Gwen’s own response to being rescued by an angel? Is decidedly less mild.

“Where the hell did you come from?” she yells, snatching her arm out of the angel’s grasp and stumbling backward because, wow, head-rush from angel-travel.

Rachel gives her a frown that is confused and pissed off all at once. “Why are you yelling at me? I just saved you from being torn apart by three hellhounds.”

Gwen clicks the safety on her gun with an exasperated growl. “Yeah, okay, thank you? I didn’t _ask_ to be saved, princess. Don’t get any ideas about me being some damsel in distress, all right? How about you tell me what the hell I did to earn myself an angelic stalker?”

Predictably, Rachel just looks at her with those piercing blue eyes. Like looking at her is supposed to actually communicate something.

“Words would be nice, princess.” Gwen means to sound demanding, but her voice breaks a bit, exhaustion setting in. It was a hard hunt after those demons. The hellhound pets were unexpected and very much unwelcome. She knows she couldn’t’ve taken them on her own, but seriously, she’s tired of this game Rachel’s been playing. “Tell me what you want. Everybody wants something.”

Rachel’s face softens. “Would you believe it if I said I want you safe?”

Gwen can’t help but laugh, hands on her hips. “You should know already I’m never safe. I’m a hunter, I’m a _Campbell._ ”

“Alive, then,” Rachel amends. “Not trapped up in the mess that is my home right now.”

That stops Gwen short. She knows about the war, has heard Dean bitch about his angel boyfriend being all wrapped up in it. “Is it really that bad up there?”

Rachel doesn’t answer, just scrubs a hand across her face. Gwen isn’t sure where the angel learned the gesture. It doesn’t seem like something an angel would do. But she guesses even angels get bone-weary.

Doesn’t change Gwen’s need to question her worth to the angel, but it does change her tone. “There’s still gotta be some reason why you saved me,” she says, trying to be reasonable, calm. “And please don’t just say I’m special again. That doesn’t mean a lick of sense to me.”

Rachel straightens up, studying her again for a long moment before she deflates, shoulders slumping slightly. “It is difficult to explain. Your soul… resonates with me.”

Gwen squints at the woman, chewing on her lower lip, trying to unpack that statement. “Are you trying to tell me you think my soul is pretty?”

Rachel honest-to-God smiles at that, this tiny flash of teeth as she casts her gaze down, looking for all the world shy and self-deprecating. It’s adorable as hell.

Gwen still can’t believe she can have a crush on an angel and still be expected to reach the pearly gates when she bites it. Jesus, the world is a weird place.

Might as well roll with it. “Let me buy you a drink,” she says over her shoulder as she strides up to her car to stash her weapons in the trunk. “It’s customary to celebrate the end of a successful hunt.” She braces herself for rejection, for Rachel to make an excuse about the war in Heaven—though that wouldn’t exactly qualify as an excuse, would it? War is a legitimate thing. Much more important than a date.

But Rachel surprises her. “I would like that.”

Gwen looks back, sees that smile directed at her and smirks. “Well, then get in my car, princess. Let’s get outta here.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joy prompted me on tumblr with the word "enochian". I am totally not responsible for the porn that was the result.

Gwen suspects it might be an angel thing, the tight hold on control anywhere except in the bedroom. Because Rachel is so—she’s not uptight, regardless of what Dean says, she’s just no-nonsense most of the time. Focused. It takes a while to break down her walls, to shake her up.

And, you know, it took a while for them to get here—mostly because Gwen hadn’t been sure of Rachel’s feelings and Rachel hadn’t been sure of “modern human courtship methods" or whatever—but the thing about sleeping with an angel is that once the walls are down, man, they are _down._

Rachel, Gwen was delighted to discover, enjoys sex. Loudly. Completely unselfconsciously. It probably pisses off all the people on the hall of this hotel, but Gwen loves that Rachel doesn’t hold back any of those sounds. Gwen’s slept with her fair share of women and most of them bite back their moans, stifle their gasps, sink their teeth into their fists to cut off a scream. Gwen knows she’s guilty of that behavior herself.

But Rachel is just so vocal, without shame. The best is when Gwen can get her to forget English, babbling desperately in Enochian.

Like now. Gwen has no idea what Rachel is saying, but the hands tugging at Gwen’s hair are telling Gwen _yes, yes, please, don’t stop._ Gwen moans quietly before she sucks harder at Rachel’s clit and crooks three fingers inside her—Rachel’s voice sharpens into a high, breathy whine, those foreign syllables tumbling from her pretty angel mouth like the hottest dirty talk. Gwen is ruined forever for sex with anyone else because of that voice. That voice could probably get her off all on its own.

But Gwen’s not too worried about getting herself off right now. It’s enough that she’s got Rachel’s legs thrown over her shoulders, Rachel’s slick all over her face, Rachel screaming her name when she finally comes.

Though she’s got no complaints when Rachel enthusiastically returns the favor.


	5. love vigilantes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry things got angsty! But there is a war going on, yo.

Gwen knew being with Rachel meant frequently waking up alone.

There are long stretches of time when Gwen knows Rachel’s up there in Heaven fighting her war—and yeah, Gwen worries and misses the hell out of her, but Raphael needs to be stopped. Gwen knows she can’t come first, not when the world’s at stake.

Rachel gets leave and visits when she can. That’s all Gwen can expect.

And Rachel can’t always come see Gwen at convenient times. Gwen woke up once in the middle of the night to find Rachel in a chair by the window, just sitting there quietly, staring at the shadows spilling across the floor from the faint streetlights outside. It had been four months since they’d last seen each other.

“How long have you been here?” Gwen had asked, and Rachel looked over with that tiny, shy smile Gwen loved.

“Not long.”

Gwen got out of bed to pull Rachel close. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Rachel shook her head, said something stupid about how important sleep was before she looked apologetic and told Gwen she shouldn’t stay long.

Gwen didn’t want to waste any of their time arguing a point, just wanted to breathe Rachel in, hold her in the dark.

The time Rachel can spare for Gwen gets smaller and smaller as the war continues. Sometimes Gwen actually misses the scant moments Rachel is on earth—she only knows that Rachel was near because the angel leaves signs, little things that tell Gwen she is missed.

Like a cup of coffee on the bedside table, steaming hot and made just the way Gwen likes it.

Like a long, white feather on the dash of her car, too large to be from any bird.

Like an extra packet of bullets on the tiny desk of her motel room. Like a handmade protection charm hanging from the inside door handle. Like a silver ring with Enochian sigils delicately carved into the band resting on a still-warm pillow on the opposite side of the bed.

“Love you too, princess,” Gwen whispers to the sky, hoping that somewhere up there Rachel hears her prayer.


End file.
